Page 15 of Ranger’s Honor (Lone Star Wolf Rangers #4)

"A goddamn goldmine. This judge buried every indictment tied to the cartel's smuggling routes and basically supplied the Reaper with victims and customers for his services. The damn judge is still active. Still ruling. Still clean on paper."

Dalton swears under his breath.

I don’t wait. I start drafting a burner message to a local journalist I trust. The kind who won’t back down when things get ugly. I attach the most critical documents, set up a timed encryption key, and prep the first wave of a data drop.

Dalton reads over my shoulder. "You’re going public."

"I’m going tactical. If we die tomorrow, someone needs to have this."

He doesn’t like it. I can feel his silence curling in.

Later that afternoon, when Dalton is on a conference call in the other room, I grab my keys and slip out before he can stop me.

The door closes behind me with a soft click, and for a moment, I just stand on the porch, breathing in the salt-thick air and letting the ache in my chest settle.

My fingers curl tighter around the keys in my hand, metal biting into my palm.

The drive to the cemetery is short, but it feels longer somehow—every streetlight blinking like a warning, every pothole a small jolt that brings me back to everything I’m trying not to feel.

The radio stays off. I can’t stomach love songs or breaking news right now.

I need silence. Space. Something I can control.

When I get to the cemetery, the gates creak like they always do, the kind of sound that makes it feel like you’re stepping into memory instead of space.

The tires roll over loose shell and dirt as I park, the soft crunch breaking the hush the second I open the door.

Reverent. The sky overhead is bruised with late- afternoon gold, clouds feathering along the edge of the horizon like they’re chasing something they’ll never catch.

I carry the lavender stems in a paper wrap, the scent calming and sharp all at once. My feet know the path too well. I don’t even have to look. I’ve walked it in every season. Every storm.

Her headstone catches the light as I approach, the carved letters softened by time and sea air. My throat tightens, breath catching as I kneel down, brushing fallen leaves from the base. I run my fingers over her name, tracing it like it’s a lifeline.

“Hey, Mom,” I whisper, voice wobbling. “I brought you lavender. I know it was your favorite. Even if you said it made the house smell like old French soap.”

I smile, but I can feel it tremble. My knees press into the earth, and I set the flowers down gently, then let my palm rest flat against the cool granite.

“I’m okay,” I say, but it’s not entirely true. “Or…I will be. Eventually.”

The breeze lifts my hair, cool against the heat still humming in my skin, and I close my eyes, letting the quiet settle over me.

“There’s a man. A wolf. Dalton. I’ve always known—deep down—that he was it for me.

The one. And when he claimed me, when his teeth broke skin, the fated mate bond didn’t just spark—it exploded into being.

Now it’s in every breath I take, every beat of my heart, a pull that will never loosen.

He knew exactly what he was doing. He wouldn’t have marked me otherwise. ”

I swallow hard, my voice dropping. “But when Gideon finds out—and it’s when, not if—it’s going to be hell.

They’re best friends, more like brothers, and Gideon’s never been good at letting things slide when it comes to me.

He’s protective to a fault, and I can already see the fight brewing.

The bond between Dalton and me isn’t going anywhere…

but I might be the one caught in the crossfire when it hits. ”

I pause, let the words sit.

“I’m working on something other than a novel.

Something important. Something right. Something that matters.

But it’s dangerous, and I’m scared. Not of him leaving—Dalton’s in this, I know that—but of everything that could come at us because of it.

I’m scared of losing the life I’ve clawed together.

Scared of failing the people counting on me to see it through.

Scared of making the wrong call and watching it all go to hell.

I’m not afraid he’ll walk away. I’m afraid this fight will kill him and take him from me before I ever truly get to keep him. ”

I press a kiss to my fingers and touch the top of the stone.

“Wish you were here to talk me down. Or talk me up. Or just sit with me and sip sweet tea until I stop spinning.”

A rustle draws my attention, and I turn—half expecting wind, but the air carries something else.

Moss, damp earth, and that faint metallic edge that reminds me of rain on iron.

The air stills, and my breath catches. For a heartbeat, I brace to see a jogger or groundskeeper on the path. But it’s empty.

Still, the hairs on the back of my neck lift—not from fear, but from the low hum of awareness that slides through the bond. He’s close. Watching. I can’t see him, but I feel him the way I feel my own pulse.

I tell myself it’s fine. That it’s just him keeping his distance, letting me have this moment. Maybe she’s here too—not in any ghostly way, but in that fierce, quiet way love leaves its imprint long after the body is gone.

I gather my things, whisper one last goodbye, and start toward my car—never noticing the shadow that moves parallel to me, low to the ground, smoke-eyed and silent. The cemetery stays hushed, the faint wind teasing the brittle petals on the graves.

Another sound, so soft it could be the breeze, makes me glance back one more time.

Nothing. Only the quiet… or so I think.

Across the clearing, unseen by me, a wolf crouches low behind a cluster of oak trees.

Watching. Guarding. Eyes the color of smoke and storms locked on the woman he’d burn the world to protect.

He doesn’t make a sound. Doesn’t move. I learn later that it was only when I was safe in my vehicle that he vanished into the shadows to beat me home.